


Ink Spot

by coolbyrne



Series: Cherry Wood and Whiskey [13]
Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 20:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20476916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: Gibbs knows more Army mottos than Jack expected. As for Jack? Her knowledge of Marine mottos is limited to one. Married Slibbs.





	Ink Spot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shipperqueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shipperqueen/gifts).

> The Army mottos:  
Verbum vincet- The Word Will Conquer  
De Oppresso Liber- To Free the Oppressed  
Volens et Potens- Willing and Able  
Per Scintillam, Flamma- Through the Spark, the Flame  
Firmiter et Fideliter- Steadfastly and Faithfully  
Haec Protegimus- This We Guard
> 
> Of course, the Marine motto is 'Semper Fidelis', meaning 'Always loyal'.

The bedroom was cool and quiet because even in the dead of winter, she liked the room to be this side of frigid, preferring the heat to come from the down comforter and him, both of which she had a habit of burrowing into. He knew every creaking floorboard and deftly navigated a path around the cherry wood footboard, watching her for any sign of movements as he softly padded his way to the far side of the bed. (He had originally argued that he should get the side closest to the door in the event of an intruder, to which she dryly reminded him that his expertise was in distance shooting, not the four feet between the bed and the entrance. And something about her outranking him, which he chose to ignore.). But there was none. Nothing but the soft snore that always made him laugh; the one ‘flaw’ in the woman who he thought was pretty damn perfect in every other way. She had left the small nightstand light on, and unknowingly basked under its warm glow. Her blonde hair spread over her pillow (and part of his), her hands clasped up under her chin, tucking the blanket close. He made a small wager with himself over which USMC shirt she was wearing. _Gray shirt, white lettering._

A shirt and boxers were draped over the chair in the corner and he contemplated having a shower first, but he was too damn tired. The flight, the conference and the weather wore him down enough that all he wanted to do was crawl into bed. Well, that, and the fact that she was in it. So he changed and shivered and slid under the heavy blanket. (And congratulated himself- it _was_ the gray shirt with white lettering.) She shifted immediately, blindly, sleepily reaching back for him. She didn't have to go far, because he was already angling behind her, moulding her curves around his edges. He’d glare the cuteness out of anyone who accused him of being a cuddler, but privately, he loved the way she little-spooned into him, the way she softly cooed when his hand slipped under the shirt to cup her breast, the way her softness countered his hardness.

Speaking of-

“That an M40 in your boxers or are you just happy to see me, Gunny?”

Lightly biting her ear, he whispered, “I thought you were sleepin’.”

“Mmmm, I was. I am. How was Chicago?”

“Cold an’ wet.”

“Tried to stay up. Too sleepy.”

The inclement weather had delayed his flight by 4 hours, and getting in meant getting home at 2am instead of 10pm.

“I know. You can sleep now.”

“‘Kay.”

It didn’t take long for her breathing to even out, and surrounded by warmth and her, his breathing wasn’t far behind.

…..

She wasn’t sure there was a better way to wake up than being curled into him, being the focus of his attention, generally from his lips and his wandering fingers. Her skin never seemed to be more hyper aware than when she was around him, the sensitivity increasing as his proximity got closer, and never was that more evident than when they were in bed. She could feel her skin tingle and the goose bumps form as his fingers scratched seductively, lazily down her arm and around her hip. His leg slipped between hers, knowing she would hook her left leg back around his thigh. She all but purred.

“It’s Saturday, right?”

“Yep,” he hummed behind her ear.

“And it’s after 7?”

He chuckled, fully aware of her propensity to sleep in on the weekend. “Yep.”

“And you’re wrapped around me.” The pleased moan curled into the room. “I’ve won the lottery.”

Her pleasure was always his reward. Working his fingers past her navel and lower, they slipped under the band of-

“Are these my boxers?”

The replying giggle got lost in the pillow as she turned her head. 

“Minx,” he growled, pulling her closer and rubbing his morning beard against her cheek, much to her delight. His hand began its descent once again, but this time stopped for an entirely different reason. Though his fingers were calloused from decades of woodworking and firearms, they were sensitive enough- especially when it came to her- to feel any anomaly, anything out of place. So when they skimmed over her hip and across her pelvic bone and felt the raised skin, he stopped. If he thought she was going to give him any indication what was going on, he got his answer when she pressed her face deeper into the pillow, even if her shoulders shook at her chuckle. He pushed himself up on his elbow and pulled the blanket back, then tugged the boxers down.

The skin at the curve of her pelvis was pink and warm to the touch, but what got his attention was the black cursive ink that now decorated her hip.

_Semper fidelis_

He was quiet for so long that she pressed his hand over the fresh tattoo and laid her hand on top of his.

“I was going to get ‘Leroy Jethro Gibbs’, but they were charging by the letter.”

Her playful sarcasm was swallowed by his kiss. Rolling her on her back, he pinned her down with his weight and his will, though he didn't have to try very hard; she rarely resisted when he put feelings into action. In fact, she often gave it right back, measure for measure. Lifting himself on his elbows, he grinned down at her.

“Should I even ask?”

She shrugged, running her hands almost subconsciously from his elbows to his shoulders and back down again. “Apparently, I get ‘ornery’ when my husband’s away too long.”

He allowed himself a moment to enjoy ‘my husband’ before recognizing ‘ornery’ as his clue. “Grace.”

“Mm-hmm.” She tickled his chest, soothing one of the many scars. “She and Ellie took me for a ‘girls’ night out’.”

“Mid-week?” he mused. “You _must’ve_ been ornery.” He turned into her rib poke.

“It was a very nice dinner. We had a few drinks”

“Then you decided to get tattoos.”

“We weren’t drunk,” she clarified. “And we went to a nice place that wouldn’t have done it if we were.”

“Whose idea was it?” She arched an eyebrow. “Nevermind. Grace.”

“Ellie went first, so we felt committed.”

“What’d she get?”

Her lips twitched. “Mmmm, that should be a conversation you have with your daughter.”

He beard-burned her cheek for her sass. “An’ Grace?”

Her head tilted back to let the laugh escape and he loved watching it ripple up her throat and through her parted lips.

“She got a Chinese symbol for ‘patience’, but I’m pretty sure it means ‘spring roll’.”

His laughter joined hers, rumbling against her neck as his head dropped. Peppering her jaw with kisses, he said, “So you got the Marine motto.”

“No,” she countered, “I got something that reminded me of you. ‘Always loyal’. Something that reminded me of us.”

His head lifted, his eyes holding hers, blue on brown. They held a tome of words that would never express how he felt. Her hands came up to his face, knowing and accepting.

He held the moment, stored it away like a precious thing before saying, "Hope you're not expectin' me to get _Verbum vincet_ on my ass."

The look on her face was exactly what he was going for, and he laughed at the anticipated push to the chest.

"First, you would never tarnish the reputation of my Army that way." She ignored his mouthing of 'my Army'. "Second, how do you know that was the motto of my Psyops?"

He shrugged. "I know a lot about 'your Army'."

"Oh yeah?"

"_De Oppresso Liber_."

"Hmmm, that's an easy one-Green Berets. Impress me, Gunny."

He kissed under her ear. "_Volens et potens_."

"Better. Not great."

He nipped at her chin for her insolence. "_Per Scintillam, Flamma_."

"Mmmm," she sighed appreciatively. "Who knew you could be so poetic?"

Continuing under her chin, he kissed, "_Firmiter et Fideliter._" 

Her fingers found their way into his short hair. "I've always liked that one."

His lips pressed reverently just above her heart. “_Haec Protegimus._”

Her fingers stopped moving at his honeyed promise murmured against her skin. The weight of his words and his body comforted her in a way she’d never known she needed. She kissed the top of his head, then quipped, “Had I known you were so enamoured with the Army lingo, I would’ve married you sooner.”

“The only part of the Army I’m ‘enamoured with’ is you.” He raised his head to kiss her again and pushed his hips down at her eager hands’ insistence. When she hooked her heels into the small of his back, he knew playtime was over. Still, he took a second to touch the new ink once more before sliding the boxers over her hip. 

She seemed to recognize the reverence, because she met the feeling with a heated kiss. “It’s okay, Marine,” she whispered. “You had me at ‘Oo-rah’.”

…..

-end


End file.
